Under! The Tree of Progeny

After a full day of continuous walking, without stopping for even a moment, Howard's group finally reached their territory. They showed no signs of retreat. They were making their way through the forests, the sound of their heavy footsteps echoing in the air... along with their harsh laughter and conversations filled with savagery and euphoria.

Howard, who had been leaning on others for most of the journey, finally seemed able to walk steadily again. Step by step, he regained his ability to walk on his own, as if the air saturated with the scent of ancient wood and damp debris had restored his strength.

And then, they saw it.

The giant tree.

It stood tall as if it had been erected since time immemorial, its roots digging into the earth like an ancient beast, swallowing everything around it. The diameter of its trunk alone was enough to make any man feel insignificant, with a width of over 300 feet, and a height that could only be grasped by those standing beneath it, craning their necks until they nearly broke. Its surface was rugged, rough, and deeply grooved, telling the stories of the centuries that had passed. Its majesty reflected its grandeur, as if it were mocking the entire world.

But what made it even more unique was that it wasn't just a tree—it was a home.

From below, it was hollow, as if it had preserved its emptiness specifically for Howard's group. Inside, it was their home, their stronghold, their impenetrable fortress. They called it the "Tree of Progeny," as if it were a mother who had embraced them long ago and made them her children.

Inside, they had their resources, their weapons, their endless spoils. Piles of ammunition, armor lined up on the wooden walls, boxes filled with metal scraps, meat, and hides, and various weapons hanging from every corner—from sharp blades and dark spears to old rifles and some dismantled heavy carts and wheels. Everything was there.

No one dared to approach.

And when they arrived, Old Brown spoke, breathing heavily... feeling something strange.

"Howard... Ashishi Ashishi."

"Really? Who are they... Goober? Step forward."

Goober stepped forward first...

He carried a massive hammer, but it wasn't just an ordinary hammer—it was a weapon he had designed himself, in a completely asymmetrical way. The head of the hammer was filled with sharp spikes and nails embedded randomly, as if it had been assembled from a scrap yard and bound together with rusty chains and threads. It looked more like a torture device than a weapon, but it was effective, deadly, just like its owner.

Goober was a strange person in every sense of the word. His appearance was far from normal—his nose was upturned, resembling that of a wild boar, his eyes were almost shut, swollen as if they had received countless blows, and his skin... that skin, which was hard to describe, was a mix of dark tan and dirty green, as if mud had stuck to him so much that it became part of him. His broad build made him look like a solid mass of muscles and rough flesh. He wasn't very tall, but he wasn't short either—he was of average height, but it seemed as if the ground itself bent under his feet with every step he took.

He walked slowly, licking his lips as if he were tasting something in the air, as if he could sense the blood before it was spilled, or as if the idea of battle made his tongue savor it even before it began.

The expected danger appeared.

It wasn't a surprise to many of them, but some couldn't help but show astonishment. The soldiers who suddenly appeared were twice the number of the mercenaries, lined up in orderly ranks, carrying wide-mouthed rifles designed for close-range annihilation—weapons meant not for threat but for direct slaughter.

Their uniforms weren't patched like those of the mercenaries; they were modern, clean, and yet, what distinguished them more than their weapons was their discipline. There was no confusion in their movements, no fear, just strict order, perfect coordination, as if they were a single unit, breathing together, moving together.

The mercenaries stood their ground, unshaken, unmoving. Only Valka and Mizona showed a moment of disbelief.

"Have these people lost their minds?" Goober asked in a low voice, directing his question to Howard.

Howard, "I'd bet on it." Then he took a step forward, to understand more.

He observed the soldiers again, their uniforms, their precise ranks, their solid stance that didn't resemble the soldiers of the Fog Colony. No, these were from the Sun Colony.

"The Sun..." he whispered to himself.

Before a man different from the rest stepped out from the ranks. He was undoubtedly a leader, not just because of his position among the men, but because of his presence. A thick, bushy mustache covered his upper lip, his cheekbones sharp and prominent, his features tight, and his eyes radiating sternness.

He stood firmly in front of the mercenaries, then spoke in a strong voice, coming from a throat trained for command:

"Honorable members of the mercenaries, we are not here to cause trouble or ignite an unnecessary war. Unfortunately, we are in a blind conflict... You have attacked our traveling caravans, caused many problems, and now, our colony and the Fog Colony will no longer tolerate this."

He continued, "And I know well that stopping you might ruin the same thing... your mood."

He smiled lightly, filled with confidence and danger.

"Why don't we settle on a simple agreement that prevents us from falling into such problems? I am Sir Bianco, speaking on behalf of our ministry, as an official envoy to deliver our message. It's a solution we must all take."

A moment of silence followed. Howard was staring at Sir Bianco, his head raised but his mouth slightly open as if he were thinking... though he wasn't thinking about anything. He was just observing the man in front of him, the man who thought he could dictate how they lived.

The mercenaries exchanged glances, then suddenly...

"Haaaa!!"

They burst into laughter, continuous, explosive laughter.

"Damn... Oooh shit hell shiit ..." Goober was laughing loudly, his large body shaking, "You've really improved our mood, Sir!!"

Others laughed too, some slapping their knees, others clapping their comrades on the back.

Sir Bianco didn't move, his face showing no expression. He remained standing firmly, confident, as if the laughter meant nothing.

Howard took another step forward, then another, and now he stood directly in front of Bianco, looking down at him.

"So... you're choosing what we do?" he said in a low but dangerous voice.

"Howard... that's your name, right? You've misunderstood. We want what's best for everyone, we want the exchange with the Fog Colony to be sound, for the relationship between us to be stable, not shaky. Do you understand my point, sir?"

"You're giving us... oh?"

Suddenly, without warning, his fist shot out.

With a vertical punch, crushing like the wind, Howard's hand smashed into Sir Bianco's head. The helmet shattered, his features vanished, and his head turned into a crumpled banana in an instant, leaving behind nothing but a lifeless, collapsed body.

"Aim!!!"

The Sun soldiers had no time to think; they had to act immediately. They raised their weapons, their aim precise, accurate, and prepared to pull the trigger.

But when they pulled...

Nothing happened.

Or rather, the bullets fired, but they didn't penetrate. The bullets ricocheted off their skins, as if hitting rocks. The soldiers didn't understand, didn't realize, didn't comprehend.

They were facing pure monsters.

At that moment, Goober charged. He moved like a bull, raising his arms to cover his head, ignoring the bullets that had no effect on him, and when he reached them, he swung a single blow that split the air, crushing four men in an instant, their guts scattering across the ground, falling as if they were nothing but weak dolls.

Then the real attack began.

The mercenaries pounced, fighting like Goober, without rules, without hesitation. The battle was closer to annihilation; the soldiers fell one after another, with little resistance.

It was a massacre.

They slaughtered them as humans slaughter flies.

Amidst all this, Howard stood expressionless, watching the blood, the scattered bodies, the soldiers who had looked down on them... with their orders... yes, they had been crushed.